


Jeeves and Bertie's Titillating Tales

by thesadchicken



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, WODEHOUSE P. G. - Works
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, PWP without Porn, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: As the title suggests, this is a collection of titillating tales starring Reginald Jeeves and Bertie Wooster.These independent little stories were all written for prompts over atgive-satisfaction, the Wodehouse kinkmeme.





	1. Another Wonderful Idea, Jeeves!

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank everyone over at [give-satisfaction](https://give-satisfaction.dreamwidth.org/) \- honestly, you guys are the best! Also a huge thank you to our mod for allowing us to post our fills if we wanted to (and just, you know, for being awesome!)
> 
> Prompts are in the chapter summaries.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Public nudity. Wherever, whenever!

‘Jeeves,’ I moaned, ‘someone is in the bushes.’

‘Mister Little and Lord Chuffnell, if I am not mistaken, sir.’

‘Good lord!’ I cried, although the exclamation had more to do with the way Jeeves was coming and going between my thighs than with this newly acquired knowledge. ‘And should we… let them… watch?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered into my ear, ‘let them know that… you are mine…’

No, no, no – wait a minute. I've gone off the rails. I never know where to begin these dashed stories. Oh, well. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t think you’re here for the narrative, what? You want – as much as I do – to get to the heart of the matter. But I shall make a brief report nonetheless.

It was a cracking day; early spring, flowers in bloom, birds chirping and all that. We were spending the week at Chuffnell Hall, and young Bingo had been invited as well. I was having a spiffing good time – spending my days with the chaps and my nights in bed with Jeeves. And on this particularly cracking day, Jeeves had thought it amusing to tease the young master with his shapely thighs and perfect _derriere_.

Well, I say “tease”, but in all honesty the man isn’t to blame. No, it was those dashed trousers, clinging to him in such outrageous ways. Stripped of my senses, I followed him into the garden and kissed him against the greenhouse wall. He responded with the same enthusiasm, and before long I was shoved against the wall myself, wearing nothing but my shirt while the rest lay in a heap on the ground. Jeeves grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up, his trousers and smalls pooling around his ankles.  I wrapped my legs around him.

Only a few hours earlier, we had indulged in, er, you know, certain activities which had left me quite prepared for what came next. You will forgive me for restating what I've said so many times before, but Jeeves is a wonder. An expert in everything he does – and this was no exception. 

He held me against the wall and started slowly, with languid but precise movements that made young Bertram whimper with pleasure.

It was then that I heard people whispering to each other in the bushes. Even in the overpowering clutches of lust, I realised that this could possibly land us in a very awkward sitch.

‘Jeeves,’ I moaned, ‘someone is in the bushes.’

‘Mister Little and Lord Chuffnell, if I am not mistaken, sir.’

‘Good lord!’ I cried, although the exclamation had more to do with the way Jeeves was coming and going between my thighs than with this newly acquired knowledge. ‘And should we… let them… watch?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered into my ear, ‘let them know that… you are mine…’

The words sent a wave of fiery passion coursing through my veins. That Jeeves would claim me in such a way – and let them watch, by Jove! I let out another whimpering moan. The sensation seemed to be mutual, because in one swift, graceful motion, Jeeves flipped me over and took me roughly from the back. I stood with my palms pressed against the wall as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of my hip and gave me a proper pounding. I was utterly exposed, my shirt pulled up over my chest, legs spread wide for Jeeves. He was harsher than usual, slamming into me with increasing force as I cried out in bliss. I thought of Bingo and Chuffy in the bushes, watching my man bugger me so thoroughly – watching me take it so willingly, and suddenly I wanted to beg for more, I wanted them to hear me beg Jeeves for more.

‘Please, harder Jeeves! Please, I want it harder!’

He complied, and I spent myself on the greenhouse wall, thinking of how scandalized and jealous my chums must be, and how absolutely certain they now were that I belonged to Jeeves, body and soul.

He gave three powerful thrusts and reached his climax, spending himself inside me. Panting, he leaned in and placed a tender kiss on my back.

‘Good lord, Jeeves,’ I breathed, ‘Good lord. I mean to say – Good lord!’

‘Yes, sir, I must agree.’

‘You don’t think we’ll be getting into any trouble for this, do you?’ I asked.

Now that the veil of lust had been lifted, I became worried. Jeeves pulled up his trousers, then picked my clothes off the ground and started dressing me.

‘I believe that had it been Mister Little and Lord Chuffnell’s intention to call the police, they would have done so quite some time ago,’ he said as he buttoned my trousers, ‘I detected their presence from the very beginning, and after having reached the conclusion that they meant us no harm, I welcomed their intrusion and used it to our advantage.’

He smoothed out my shirt and kissed me. I smiled at him.

‘I say, another wonderful idea, Jeeves!’

‘Thank you, sir.’


	2. Wet Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jeeves in wet clothes and Bertie gets turned on by that sight.

I’m not entirely certain of my facts, but I do believe it was a poet – or maybe a sculptor, or a professor of something or other, or perhaps a priest – who said that something good is always to be extracted from even the most distressing situations. I have discovered this to be true in the aftermath of a particularly embarrassing incident.

It was early summer and I was leaving London to spend a few days in the country with Jeeves. He drove, I sang, and after ten minutes of this he spoke of the merits of silence – to which I said ‘pish-tosh, I will sing another jolly tune until we arrive’. He heaved a mighty sigh and said, ‘very good, sir’.

Upon arriving I immediately pestered Jeeves into accompanying me on a walk by the river. He followed me on the unique condition that I should cease my singing and stick to ordinary conversation.  I frowned and pouted and wagged my finger at him, but he was unyielding. So, naturally, I gave in. Jeeves’ company is worth a hundred songs.

We walked by the river, discussing this and that, until something very odd happened. I was telling Jeeves what rummy things clouds are, in the hope that he might explain them to me, and then suddenly all I knew was that the world was very cold and very wet. Jeeves later explained that I had been standing too close to the bally riverbank and that the bally earth had quite ruthlessly disappeared beneath my bally feet, melting into the water and taking me with it.

Now usually, a Wooster is quite the resistant chap, but this brutal cunning of nature, combined with the element of surprise, left me feeling powerless. This side of the river was deep. Panic and cold water seeped into me for a minute and I cried out in not an entirely manly voice.

Within seconds, however, two strong arms were wrapped around my chest and I was pulled out of the water and pushed up onto dry land.

The sun warmed me in mere seconds. I took a steadying breath and tried to shake the embarrassment away. There was no need for anyone to think that I had fallen into the river by accident. I was ready to turn around and say something along the lines of ‘ah, quite the enjoyable swim, what?’ but the words froze on my lips.

Slowly emerging from the water was Jeeves, jacketless and soaking wet. His hair dripped down the sides of his face and onto his neck, where his tie hung loose. His white shirt was completely transparent, revealing a broad chest and porcelain skin. My eyes – treacherous things! – travelled downwards and my breath caught at the sight of his trousers, clinging to his thighs, exposing quite an impressive bulge around his midsection –

‘Good heavens,’ I muttered to myself.

Jeeves looked at me, grey eyes flickering with concern. ‘Sir?’

My stomach lurched. ‘I – er, Jeeves, I hadn’t, I didn’t… I mean to say…’

‘You are not injured, sir?’

‘Er, no.’

My mouth had gone awfully dry and my heart had started pounding in my chest. Heat rose to my cheeks as my valet bent over to pick up his jacket. Water trickled down his back, directing my gaze towards the most attractive backside I had ever had the honour to gawk at.

Of course I am only human. Naturally the unspeakable happened. What I mean to say is that, well, you know, some throbbing and stiffness are to be envisaged in these cases. One cannot be expected to remain entirely proper and respectable while watching a paragon of male beauty walk around in all his wet splendour, clothes hugging his body, trousers tight around his –

But the evidence of my passion was pushing against my own trousers. I quickly removed my jacket and held it in front of me.

‘Thank you for, er, fishing me out of the water and all that, Jeeves,’ I stammered, ‘But I do know how to swim, you know.’

My pride was only slightly wounded – to be entirely honest, I was grateful for my man’s unnecessary plunge into the river. He looked at me, his shirt pulled tight across his chest, muscles gleaming under it. I could hear the sound of my throat as I swallowed.

‘I was not aware of that, sir,’ he answered, tilting his head gracefully to the side.

I clutched my jacket. My heart was racing, and if I wasn’t careful Jeeves was going to notice my, er, predicament.

‘Right. It’s all over now. You can go back to the cottage if you like; draw a bath for yourself, enjoy a moment of peace while the young master is out.’

‘Sir?’ he lifted an eyebrow.

‘Yes, I think I might walk some more, don’t you know. The weather is splendid.’

‘I couldn’t advise it, sir,’ he took a step towards me, reaching for my jacket, ‘I should at least take your ja –’

‘No!’ I cried, leaping out of his reach, ‘No, most certainly not, Jeeves. You’ve done enough for me today. In fact, come to think of it – you know, perhaps you should take the evening off, what?’

‘I did so yesterday, sir.’

‘Yes but yesterday we weren’t in the country, were we?’ And he wasn’t soaking wet, and I wasn’t on the very verge of losing all self-control and yielding to my burning desires.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes and the gesture, so carefree and unjeeveslike, sent a new wave of heat coursing through my body. He frowned slightly. ‘You are not injured, sir?’

‘You’ve asked me that once before, Jeeves,’ I shifted on my feet, ‘No, I am not. But I would like to be left alone.’ I had wanted the words to sound firm, but they came out desperate.

‘Very good, sir.’

I watched him leave as I leaned against a tree. When he was out of sight, my mind wandered. I imagined him drawing a bath, then peeling the clothes off his body, damp fabric clinging one last time to his skin as he pulled it off. I imagined him standing naked in the steam-filled room and slowly stepping into the bath, sinking into the warm water with a sigh. I dreamed of his eyelids fluttering as his hand fell into his lap.

It took me quite some time to recover and compose myself after that. I thought of Aunt Agatha and Sir Roderick Glossop, and then just to make sure the mood had passed, I thought of Honoria Glossop too. I walked back to the cottage a proper and respectable gentleman.

***

Years later, when we’d finally found each other and confessed our feelings, I would ask Jeeves to come to me in wet clothes and let me strip them off his shivering body. He once asked why, and I told him the story. He smiled his secret smile and said there was a poet – or maybe a sculptor, or a professor of something or other, or perhaps a priest – who said that something good is always to be extracted from even the most distressing situations.


	3. Against the piano!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It's been a frustrating few days, they've had no privacy so as soon as the last friend/aunt/annoyance is gone Jeeves has is way with Bertie and fuck him none too gently against the piano (they're both into it)

Those who know me will tell you without a moment’s hesitation that Bertram Wooster always receives guests, friends, cousins and aunts with open arms. It is a duty and a pleasure. Well, at least that’s what I thought before this unfortunate episode.

The truth is that sometimes guests, friends, cousins and aunts can be a bally nuisance. Imagine it was one of those topping mornings, and you had just climbed out from under the shower, and from the kitchen came the sounds and smells of breakfast. Imagine your valet – the most handsome chap you’d ever laid eyes upon – knocking at the bathroom door, and you opening it with a hearty ‘what ho, Jeeves!’

But then imagine the shock of hearing your valet – the most h. c. you’d ever laid eyes upon – cough uncomfortably and say, ‘Mister Fotheringay-Phipps wishes to see you, sir.’

‘Old Barmy?’ I said.

‘Yes, sir. He is waiting in the sitting-room.’

‘But it’s barely ten o'clock!’

‘I’m afraid Mister Fotheringay-Phipps was most insistent, sir.’

‘But – but, before breakfast?’

Jeeves sighed. There was nothing to be done about it, then.

You see, this was a short time after Jeeves had made me the happiest man alive. It happened one night in – oh, it's a long story, and I haven't time to tell you now, but the point is that we were a pair of lovebirds. In the privacy of our rooms we were like a couple of those Greek chappies. We spent a few hours alone together, every morning after breakfast and every evening after dinner, and those hours were the best of the day.

So you understand that this ill-timed intrusion was annoying, to say the least. I felt jolly well oppressed, to be kept away from my Jeeves by Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps at such an early hour.

 ‘Not much we can do about it, is there?’

‘I fear not, sir.’

‘Well then, Jeeves. This will be a trial of patience, what?’

I said it with a smile, trying to make light of the sitch. Had I known that after Barmy – who came begging Jeeves to solve a problem he had with his uncle – had I known that after he left there would be three more unwanted guests, I wouldn’t have been so willing to smile.

After Barmy came Tuppy, and after Tuppy my cousin Angela – they’d been quarrelling as usual. By late-afternoon we thought we’d earned our peace, and with eager fingers I reached to unbutton Jeeves’ shirt. But another tap at the door made us both start: it was my aunt Dahlia, and she proclaimed that she would be staying with us for a few days.

Everyone knows that an aunt’s will is a destructive force of nature. You do not fight it, you simply hope it will spare you and wait for it to pass.

The next few days were absolutely ghastly. I spent them sulking in a chair at the Drones, or sulking in a chair at home, or sulking while Jeeves bent over the table to serve us tea, my eyes watering at the injustice of it all.

The moment Jeeves closed the door behind Aunt Dahlia I sighed with relief. I opened my mouth to speak – ‘a trial of patience indeed!’ – but I was silenced by Jeeves’ lips against mine. I melted into the kiss, bringing my hands up to run them through my man’s hair. He steered me backwards, kissing me deeply, until my back collided with the piano and I brought my hands down on the keys, producing delicious sounds of discord. Jeeves’ hands were between my thighs, fondling me through my trousers. He captured my lower lip between his and pulled on it.

I was already aching, throbbing and stiff with desire. Jeeves was usually a gentle lover – he liked to take his time, and often asked me what gave me the most pleasure. But today he was impatient and forceful, handling my body like I was his property. The thought nearly drove me mad with lust.

He stripped me of my clothes, fast and eager, then he flipped me over so that I was facing the piano. My heart pounded in my chest. He had never been this rough with me before. I loved it.

He nudged my legs apart with his knee and bent me over the piano. I heard him undoing the buttons on his trousers and I shivered in anticipation. He spat in his hand and brought it between my thighs, moving his fingers slowly inside me. I gasped, trembling at his harshness, at the strength with which he gripped my hip.

‘It was agony to wait,’ he whispered as he drove his fingers in and out of me, ‘Agony – not being able to touch you...’

I spread my legs further apart for him, pushing back against his fingers with a wanton moan. Good lord, I wanted more. He must have deemed me ready, because he removed his fingers and I heard him preparing himself. I clutched the edge of the piano.

I gasped as he gave the first thrust. He was usually so patient, so careful – this was the exact opposite. I closed my eyes against the pain. I knew that he would stop if I showed the slightest sign of serious discomfort, but I was enjoying this. I wanted him to be careless and rough. With a second, more powerful thrust, he was buried inside me, and we both moaned.

He gave me less than a second to adjust, and then he started slamming into me, his fingers digging into my hips. I cried out in pain and pleasure. He slid one hand up my back and into my hair, and he pulled my head up, the slight change in position bringing him deeper inside me.

‘So tight…’ he groaned.

The piano was shaking with the force of his thrusts. I could feel every inch of him, large, throbbing, owning me with each mighty lurch. I moaned his name – this seemed to excite him even more; without warning, he struck my buttock with his palm. The sweet pain sent a new wave of pleasure coursing through me. He brought his hand down again, and I moaned louder.

Pinned against the piano, I was powerless. He could do whatever he pleased with me.

Still pounding into me, he reached around my waist, took me in his hand and began stroking me. I whimpered, pleasure taking over my body, and I knew that I wouldn’t last much longer. He shifted only slightly, but it was the perfect position: I felt him against that spot, once, twice, too much; I was so close, ‘oh Jeeves please don’t stop’…

I reached my climax and he followed only seconds later. We slid to the floor and lay there panting, limbs tangled, hearts racing. I was drifting off to sleep when he kissed my forehead lovingly.

‘I hope I was not too harsh?’ he asked, concern painting his voice.

 ‘No, you were perfect,’ I smiled at him.

He ran his fingers lazily through my hair. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Rather,’ I laughed, gesturing towards the piano, coated with my seed.

‘Then perhaps it is an activity worth revisiting?’

‘Absolutely.’

He wrapped his arms around me with a tenderness I cannot describe, and in this sweet contentment we were blind to the world, seeing only each other and our perfect, perfect happiness.


	4. In Lord Tinklewee’s Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jeeves/Bertie: bladder desperation  
> No wetting, just one of them growing more and more desperate to go but circumstances don't allow it for some time. And the other one, to his shock is terribly aroused by it but does his best to encourage the sufferer to stay calm and hold out. A successful relief without accident in the end. The other one may watch.

We were well concealed inside Lord Tinklewee’s enormous wardrobe – I felt certain that we were in no danger of being detected. The man himself had at present completed his evening ablutions, shoved cotton into his ears and sat in bed reading a book. Mr. Wooster watched him through the slit of the wardrobe doors. He then turned to me with a sigh.

‘I suppose we’re stuck here,’ he whispered.

‘It would appear so, sir,’ I replied.

‘Why did I ever let Stiffy drag me into this rummy business?’ he complained, ‘‘No, Stiffy old girl, you shall have to steal your own bally _pince-nez_ ,’ is what I should have told her.’

‘Indeed sir.’

There was a moment of silence. Mr. Wooster slumped against the back of the wardrobe.

‘There’s nothing to do but wait now, what?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

We waited quietly. Lord Tinklewee continued reading – I counted the pages by the sound of him turning them. Beside me, Mr. Wooster had started tapping his left leg against the wood. At first I thought nothing of it, knowing he had a tendency to fidget. But as the minutes passed, his unfortunate twitching increased, and I feared the worse.

‘Er, Jeeves,’ he said, scratching his neck, ‘do you have an inkling of how long we might be in here?’

I pursed my lips. ‘When we first arrived I had the chance to meet Perkins, the butler. He intimated that his Lord’s reading habits are something of a legend amongst the staff.’

‘A legend?’

‘Yes, sir. On one occasion, Lord Tinklewee is said to have sat reading for an entire night and half a day, barely stopping for food and water.’

Mr. Wooster went pale. I watched the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat as he swallowed fearfully.

‘I see. Well, let’s hope the old man falls asleep before dawn then,’ he laughed nervously.                    

After that, the fidgeting intensified. He tapped his feet frantically against the wardrobe, then against each other. I coughed.

‘Yes, Jeeves?’

‘If you will forgive the indiscretion, sir, and allow me to ask; are you claustrophobic?’

‘Claustro-whatnow?’

‘Are you afraid of enclosed or narrow places, sir?’

‘Oh. No, not really, I don’t think. Are you?’

‘No, sir.’

Only a moment of stillness, then Mr. Wooster was bouncing on his toes. I raised my eyebrows at him.

‘Oh, dash it, Jeeves,’ he said, ‘I really must – I mean to say – I find myself in a rather, er, awkward situation.’

‘Sir?’

‘It’s embarrassing but – well, nature is calling, if you know what I mean, and I don’t think I can put off answering much longer.’

Despite the darkness, I could see his face, the way he bit his lower lip, the tension in his shoulders. I allowed myself to stare. He was very attractive in his distress. Something in me stirred – as it always did whenever we were this close – and then something more. Trapped in the wardrobe, our arms were touching. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, his pink tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips…

I looked away. Shame painted my cheeks red, and I hoped he would not notice.

‘Most distressing, sir,’ I said quietly.

Mr. Wooster nodded slowly. I noticed his fingers clutching the front of his trousers. I felt suddenly very warm beneath my collar. He was taking slow, deep breaths, his eyelids trembling over a flustered gaze. The thought of him struggling to retain control was, for some reason, exceptionally arousing.

‘Good lord, this is agony,’ he whined.

At his words, passion flickered in my loins. I recoiled from my own depravity. He was anxious, and I was deriving cruel pleasure from it. I leaned my shoulder against his slightly, hoping it would be a small comfort.

‘Lord Tinklewee must be weary from the day’s exertions: you will recall, sir, that he took a brisk walk down to the village this afternoon,’ I offered.

‘Yes, you’re right, Jeeves. He’ll fall asleep any minute now,’ Mr. Wooster looked at me, a spark of gratitude in his eyes. I lowered my gaze to the floor, guilt wrapping itself around my chest, but I burned for him nonetheless. His thigh was twitching, almost touching mine. I could feel the warmth his body emitted.

We stood there silently, waiting. From time to time he bit his lip or moved his hips, and I could not stop my heart from pounding. I discreetly lowered my arm to cover the evidence of my desire – an unseemly bulge in my trousers that had formed, it seemed, almost against my will.

But my torment was far from reaching its end. Slipping his pretty fingers into his hair, Mr. Wooster closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wardrobe, revealing his soft, pale throat. I could not look away; I was entranced by the arch of his neck, the curve of his eyebrows as he raised them beseechingly, as if begging… as if pleading…

My trousers had become painfully tight. I watched him shudder, watched his stomach and thighs quiver. Suddenly, a vision filled my mind: I saw myself standing in front of him, my lips teasing his neck, my palm pressed against his lower abdomen as he begged, ‘Please, Jeeves, I can’t…’ 

As if in answer to my wicked thoughts, Mr. Wooster bucked his hips and _whimpered_. I thought I would go mad with lust.

‘Oh Jeeves,’ he moaned, ‘I’m not sure I can bear this anymore.’

 _Neither am I_ , I wanted to answer. But I steadied myself against the side of the wardrobe, gathered my composure and said, ‘It should not be long now, sir.’

Mercifully, I was correct. Lord Tinklewee placed his book on the bedside table and turned off the lights. With a shuddering breath, Mr. Wooster opened the wardrobe door and we stepped out.

‘The window, sir,’ I whispered. I knew that Lord Tinklewee always slept with the key to his bedroom door hidden under his pillow.

We climbed down the window, both of us swaying on our feet. Once in the gardens, Mr. Wooster wasted no time – he did not even turn away from me. I watched his handsome profile as he undid his trousers. I heard the steady stream of his release. He heaved a sigh of relief, throwing his head back, a contented smile on his lips.

It was that image of him that remained with me late at night, in the privacy of my rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tinkle-wee, hehehehehe.


	5. You will never be alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I had a rubbish day so I would really love to see Bertie getting comforted by Jeeves, like full on hurt/comfort with lots of fluff and cuddles in front of the fireplace and then Bertie can fall asleep in Jeeves arms and Jeeves can carry him to their bed.

He found me on the sofa. I wasn’t much to look at – shirt rumpled, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes puffy and red. I hid my face in my hands, ashamed. I didn’t want him to see me this way. What would he think of the young master now? I tried to straighten up but my body was numb. ‘What’s the point, Bertram?’ it seemed to tell me.

So I slumped there on the sofa and hid my face in my hands like a child. My eyes were wet, and I hated them for it. He would see – he would see my tears and my emptiness and my ugliness, and he would not love me like before.

‘I need – I need you to leave, Jeeves,’ I lied. My voice was shaky and weak.

For a moment there was silence, and I thought he’d left. But then I felt the sofa shift under his weight, and his voice, soft and clear, ‘If it is truly what you need, I will leave. But – I would grateful if you would let me help.’

I looked up at him. Calm, wise, handsome, perfect as always; he was sitting next to me, both his feet firmly on the ground when mine were folded beneath me. His grey eyes held infinite tenderness, infinite trust, and pain that I knew was my doing. I wished I had the strength to stand up straight and smile, to say ‘Oh that was nothing, Jeeves. A momentary lapse. Carry on, now.’

Instead I reached out and traced his jaw with my finger, refusing to let him see my weakness, but not quite willing to let him go. ‘I had the most bally awful day,’ I muttered.

‘Do you –’

‘No, I would rather forget… Talking about it will only make it worse.’

I felt his body lean into mine, ever so slightly, and I leaned into his. He gently cupped my face in his hand. ‘This is not weakness,’ he whispered, ‘You do not need to hide it from me. I will love you, always, and I will be by your side. I consider it my greatest privilege.’

I bit my lower lip in an effort to contain the tears, but they came nonetheless. They ran down my cheeks and dropped onto his shirt, and suddenly I was sobbing, and I had not cried like this since I was a boy. His arms were around me, a fortress, a haven. He kissed my forehead again and again, his fingers drawing invisible circles over my arms, as if he would absorb my pain, as if he wished it would hurt him instead. And perhaps it did.

I cried in his arms, drawing wobbly streaks of tears down the front of his shirt. He held me, his lips comforting my skin, his entire body cradling mine. Like rain, I cried and cried, and he stood in the downpour, saying ‘nothing can hurt you now’, ‘I am here’, ‘you will never be alone’.

At last I stopped crying. I noticed then that I was shivering. Jeeves gently pulled back, his eyes locked on mine, and said, ‘I will light the fire.’

I watched him as he did, grateful for his presence, for the way he turned to look at me every few seconds. Once the fire crackled reassuring in the fireplace, Jeeves covered me with a blanket and took me in his arms again. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

‘You will never be alone,’ he said softly. His fingers were in my hair, as gentle as a summer breeze, and his scent was in my clothes, my skin – sandalwood and warmth and home. My eyelids fluttered over my tired eyes.

‘Say my name, Jeeves, please.’

He would object, usually. But I only felt him tense for a second, then, ‘Bertie…’

I smiled. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and his hand stroked my cheek.

‘You are loved,’ he hummed soothingly; ‘I love you, Bertie.’

‘I love you too, Reggie,’ I closed my eyes.

I was relaxed, comfortable, safe in Jeeves’ embrace. A moment before falling asleep, I felt a great peace, and a certainty: that nothing could harm me, that no troubles were insurmountable, no problems unsolvable. I was safe, I was loved, I would never be alone.

And, dear reader, you are safe. You are loved. And you will never be alone.


	6. Dirty Dialogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: dirty talk!

‘Nothing quite like sharing a bath, eh Jeeves?’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘I wish we hadn’t got out so soon.’

‘The water was turning cold, sir.’

‘Yes, perhaps it was. Oh, well. Er – I say, Jeeves… my pyjamas?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘You usually lay them out on the bed.’

‘I took the liberty of neglecting that particular practice, sir.’

‘Oh.’

‘Pyjamas would only be a hindrance, considering the activities to come.’

‘Oh!’

‘If I might make the suggestion, sir, you might discard your dressing gown and lie down.’

‘Only if you do the same, old thing.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Ah, yes, that’s better – hallo! Standing at attention already!’

‘It cannot be helped, sir. The thought of what I am about to do to you…’

‘Tell me, Jeeves. Tell me what you will do to me.’

‘I will bury myself inside you, sir, and pound into you until you forget your own name.’

‘Good lord!’

‘But first, I shall do this…’

‘Mm, yes!’

‘And then – ah. I seem to have misplaced the oil, sir.’

‘Oh, no, actually – er, that would be my fault, Jeeves. You see, I was lonely without you the other day.’

‘Were you, sir?’

‘Dashed lonely. The moment you left, I wished you would return and bugger me in every room.’

‘Mmm…’

‘But you were already gone… so I pleasured myself, imagining it was you, imagining your fingers spreading me wide…’

‘Ooh…’

‘I imagined your throbbing length filling me, your lips on my neck…’

‘Tell me where the oil is, sir, I cannot wait any longer…’

‘Should I? I think I’m rather enjoying this. Maybe I should make you beg?’

‘Sir…’

‘No, not sir. Call me Bertie.’

‘…’

‘Well?’

‘Yes… Bertie.’

‘That’s better. Now beg for it.’

‘Just tell me –’

‘I won’t tell you until you beg.’

‘Please…’

‘Not good enough.’

‘Please let me fuck you...’

‘Oh, Jeeves… but you’re forgetting something.’

‘…’

‘Say it.’

‘Please let me fuck you, Bertie.’

‘Good boy – The oil is in your room.’

‘You – you pleasured yourself in my room, when I was away?’

‘Yes. On your bed, my face pressed into your pillow…’

‘Good heavens, sir… Don’t move. Wait here – yes, like that.’

‘…’

‘I have the oil. Come here.’

‘Oh! Mmm yes Jeeves!’

‘I imagined this moment all day – I could think of nothing else…’

‘Neither… could… I…’

‘Are you ready, sir?’

‘Yes!’

‘Mmm…’

‘Aaaah, yes… yes… faster…’

‘…’

‘Jeeves you’re so – so hard… You’re going to… make me…’

‘Yes!’

‘Aaaah!’

‘Mmmm…’

‘…’

‘…’

‘…Jeeves, you’re a beast.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘By Jove, the neighbours will be complaining.’

‘We can blame it on the newly-wed couple on the second floor, sir.’

‘Excellent idea, Jeeves.’


	7. The Gentlemanly Art of Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I know it's just a tag but " I say! What are you doing with that whangee" seems like a nice prompt to start :D I would prefer Jeeves/Bertie but go wild!

‘I say! What are you doing with that whangee?’

‘You shall knock on the table three times if you wish this to cease, sir. But you are not permitted to speak, unless it is to thank me for disciplining you –’

Oh, dash it. I have made the exact same floater that I’m always trying to avoid; you know, getting off the mark like a scalded ape, starting right in the middle of things, all that rot. It’s the snag I usually come up against when I'm trying to tell a story. If your public can't make out what you're talking about, it’ll just wave dismissively and walk right out on you.

In these cases, I usually feel that I have to hark back a bit. But here, for this particular story, weighing this against that, I suppose I shall make an exception. I mean to say, if a sentence like ‘I say! What are you doing with that whangee?’ doesn’t grip you and ignite your curiosity then quite frankly I don’t know what sort of reader you are.

Right ho, then. In this story young Bertram is bent over the kitchen table with his trousers and underthings pooling around his ankles, and he is looking up at Jeeves, and he is saying, ‘I say! What are you doing with that whangee?’

Jeeves is holding up said whangee, an utterly hungry expression on his handsome face. ‘You shall knock on the table three times if you wish this to cease, sir. But you are not permitted to speak, unless it is to thank me for disciplining you –’

I heard the sound of it carving the air, the misleadingly gentle whoosh, and for a second my whole body shook like a leaf. Then the pain came, stinging, white-hot. I cried out – it was not an entirely manly cry, I’m afraid to say – and held on to the table as if my life depended on it.

‘You have not behaved like a proper gentleman, sir,’ Jeeves said.

There was silence. I realised a moment too late that he was waiting for me to agree. A sharp pinch on my already sore backside made me jolt and nod feverishly. ‘I’m sorry, Jeeves!’

‘I am afraid I must punish you, sir. It is for your own good.’

‘Yes, Jeeves.’

‘You will thank me every time I strike you.’

‘Yes, Jeeves.’

He struck again. By Jove, what exquisite agony! It was with sincere gratitude that I cried, ‘Thank you, Jeeves!’ In fact, I wished he would hurt me more, grab me by the hair, hold me down and take me right then and there. But as I dare say you know, Jeeves is a patient man. He tapped the back of my thighs lightly with the cane, and I trembled, waiting for the next blow.

‘Spread your legs,’ he commanded.

I did as I was told. It was humiliating and wonderful, the cane against my bare buttocks, Jeeves standing behind me, tall and threatening, my thighs spread for him. He struck once more, and I thanked him again, although the pain made my eyes water.

He brought the cane down again and again, drawing burning lines across my backside. I thanked him as best I could, but a few blows in and I was a whimpering mess. I shuddered so strongly that Jeeves had to steady me with a hand on my hip. The touch made me moan. I ached for him. The evidence of my desire hung hard and heavy between my legs. I felt Jeeves shift behind me.

‘I see you are enjoying this, sir,’ he said. He reached around my waist and wrapped his hand around me. I nearly wept with pleasure.

‘Please, Jeeves, I –’

I heard the cane hit the floor, and before I could speak another word Jeeves had struck me with his palm. I felt my skin ripple with the force of it, and I knew then that he had been holding back with the cane, that those powerful blows were nothing compared to his true and full strength. The thought made me feel quite faint.

‘You will not beg, sir,’ Jeeves whispered in my ear, ‘you will take your punishment.’

‘Yes, Jeeves,’ I whined.

He stroked my hair tenderly, but it only lasted a moment. After that he pulled away from me and spanked me again. He did not use the whangee anymore – just his palm, landing mercilessly on the young master’s abused bottom. I loved every moment of it, and told him so repeatedly. My moans filled the room. Jeeves inflicted this marvellous punishment upon me until I feared I would come undone.

I believe it was then that he joined me on the very edge of pleasure, because he turned me over, pushed me onto my knees and whipped out his throbbing length. I took it in my mouth eagerly, stroking myself at the same time. It was not long before I felt his seed on my tongue, and swallowed it greedily. I reached my own climax only moments later.

At this point we were both looking quite dishevelled, panting and leaning against whatever we could (for Jeeves, the table – for the y. m, Jeeves’ thigh). I looked up at him.

‘Jeeves?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘That whangee –’

‘I shall keep it in the bedroom at all times, sir.’

‘Thank you, Jeeves.’


	8. Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bertie discovers that Jeeves is an incredibly gentle kisser.

Bertie Wooster watches himself lean in as Jeeves places a strong hand on his shoulder. And Bertie knows that he is learning something new about Jeeves with every breath.

First it's the scent of his cologne, the tenderness in his eyes, the air between them that is suddenly hot. Then it's his skin, warm, real – oh good lord it's truly happening.

His lips. His beautiful, beautiful lips, pressed against Bertie's like the softest of whispers. They move - his lips - they grow hungry. They part, but they do not push. Bertie's eyes are closed. He opens his mouth, only slightly, and there is Jeeves' tongue, gently slipping in, gently, oh so gently. Bertie waits, utterly rapt. Jeeves shifts. His chin grazes Bertie’s jaw. Tongues meeting – a sigh escapes him, or was it Jeeves? Bertie is lost in the sweetness of the kiss, the delicate pressure of lips against lips, and the way they peel away from each other before joining again, and again, and again.

Jeeves takes Bertie’s lower lip between his own and sucks on it slowly, tasting him, holding him there, stopping time. There are a thousand things Bertie could say about this moment. A thousand details Bertie could pick and gather and harvest, a thousand different things he is learning about Jeeves that he wishes he’d known before. Warmth and sighs and heat. This and this and this.

But it’s the sweetness of the kiss that Bertie remembers best. Jeeves is an incredibly gentle kisser.

‘Jeeves?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘You are an incredibly gentle kisser.’

‘Thank you, sir.’


	9. All Things Excellent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [this picture](https://i.ibb.co/RjS3wjr/tumblr-prc9a21-Mwu1ttuvq9o1-500.jpg)

The conclusion to Spinoza’s “ _Ethics”_ supposes that _all things excellent are as difficult as they are rare_. I found myself pondering this as I watched Mr. Wooster from across the room – the soft lines of his young features; the arch of his eyebrows, raised in provocation; the alluring azure of his eyes; and the stark cupid’s bow beneath his Grecian nose.

Yes, Mr. Wooster was indeed rare – as rare as he was difficult.

Arms crossed over his chest, he lifted his chin. ‘No, Jeeves, I will not concede defeat this time,’ said his slightly upturned lips, and his pink tongue darted out to touch the corner of his mouth, ‘We’ve had our sartorial differences before, but this goes beyond garment.’

He was being, as I have mentioned, difficult. However, there are certain languages one learns to speak from habit, and I knew his playfulness well by now. ‘Sir?’ I raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to go further.

‘Yes, Jeeves, this is a matter of _dominance_.’ He spoke the word with such incitement that I was almost unsettled by its impropriety.

Almost.

‘Indeed, sir,’ I answered levelly, as I slowly crossed the room towards him. I was only a few inches taller than him, but I was also broader, stronger, and I positioned myself as to accentuate this. I saw the tremor that passed through him, the anticipation in his eyes.

When he spoke next, I stood so close to him that I felt his warm breath against my skin. ‘The tie shall remain, Jeeves, and I shall wear it tomorrow morning,’ he stood upright, amused by his own defiance, ‘Unless…’

The word lingered in the air, a living thing between us. ‘Unless, sir?’

‘Unless you can… _persuade_ me.’

Again, that insolence, that shameless insinuation. I delighted in it. Impudent, brazen, scandalous but gentlemanly – he was irresistible. I could have yielded then, dropped to my knees in front of him or taken him against the wall. He would have liked it either way. But I remembered Spinoza, and all things excellent. _Rare and difficult_.

Mr. Wooster’s eyelids fluttered, and his eyes moved to my lips. He was waiting for the fissure in my composure. I sought excellence in all things – an easy victory was nothing to me. I would not drop to my knees. I would not give in to the tension between us, to the passion that burned in my loins. I would remain self-possessed, and I would persuade him all the same. He wanted dominance… I would show him dominance.

‘You will pardon me for saying, sir, that you are not aware of what you are truly asking,’ I said, reaching slowly for the tie at his neck. I took the offending item between my finger and thumb, rubbing at its garish fabric.

His breath came out louder, his chest heaving under my gaze. He looked at my fingers, the way they stroked the tie at his throat, the way they undid it with the deftness that only habit grants. He swallowed, and I felt the bob of his Adam’s apple against the back of my hand. ‘I bally well am aware, Jeeves,’ he tried to find his boldness, but it was lost.

‘In that case, sir…’ I let my voice drift away languidly, as if in negligence, and I made my fingers tap lightly at the base of his neck, where his shirt now lay open. I slid my hand up along his jaw. I saw him soften, felt his body relax as it leaned into mine. He made the mistake of believing that I would submit.

Now, he was _mine_.

In one swift movement I wrenched the tie from him and turned him around. He staggered in his surprise, allowing me to pull his arms behind his back. I pressed my body into his. ‘I will have to be firm with you,’ I whispered in his ear, using the tie to bind his hands.

He gasped as the fabric dug into his wrists. I had only taken his hat, stick and coat. The rest he still wore – even his jacket and his shoes. I wanted to see him laid out for me; I wanted to reveal the helplessness in him. As much as I enjoyed his natural shamelessness and voluntary impudence, I ached to see the other, equally charming facet of him: the vulnerable young man, who would moan, whimper and beg.

‘If you would kneel now, sir…’

 _Dominance_ , he had said. But I kept my tone even and polite. I would command him without artifice or ploy – I would make the master submit to the servant. I could feel in him the urge to succumb, the ardent desire to kneel for me. He protested half-heartedly, but seconds later he was on his knees, his back to me. He could not see my breathlessness, the red that painted my cheeks.

I took a moment to calm the pounding in my chest, but my eyes fell on McIntosh’s leash, hanging off the side of a chair. Fiery madness overtook me, and I reached for the rope. Leaning over Mr. Wooster, I slipped the leash through the tie still binding his hands and then down to his feet. I felt him shudder. With eager fingers I wound the leash twice around his ankles and fastened it there.

I made him wait, and he waited. He could not move – _would not_ move unless I ordered him. I placed my hand on his back and slowly pushed him forward.  I watched his shirt slide up his back, high, higher, until I could see his smooth, pale skin. He pushed his backside off his heels. I did not have to force him. He bent forward until his cheek was pressed against the floor and his bottom thrust up in the air. His shirt and jacket had slid almost up to his chest, revealing the exquisite softness of his lower back, the cleft of his buttocks peeking out of his trousers, framed by two delicate dimples.

The rope tying his wrists to his ankles was taut against his back. I was painfully hard, but I did not reach to unfasten my trousers. Instead, I ran my hands up his trembling thighs and squeezed his buttocks. He moaned.

‘Jeeves… please…’

I was feverish with lust. ‘It is indeed, Mr. Wooster, a matter of dominance,’ I heard myself say. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows curving upwards imploringly as he knelt there for me. His arms twitched, but he did not struggle against his bonds.

He was utterly beautiful, kneeling face down on the floor, his trousers clinging to his thighs, his hands tied behind his back. He was wearing the shoes I liked best, and a suit I had chosen for him myself. I could not say what enthralled me more: the defencelessness of his position, or the fact that he was fully dressed, and how much more indecent that made him. A young gentleman in such distinguished attire should never be thus exposed. And yet there he was…

‘I do enjoy hearing you beg, sir,’ I said. I was insatiable.

‘Oh, please Jeeves… please, I – I can’t take it any longer…’ he pleaded.

‘And how may I satisfy you, sir?’

‘Please… do whatever you want to me, just – touch me!’

With a twinge of regret, I removed the leash, leaving him free to move everything except for his arms, which were still tied behind his back. He immediately spread his legs further apart.

‘So eager…’ I whispered, almost to myself, as I tugged at his trousers.

‘Jeeves, this is unbearable, _please_ …’

I pulled down his trousers and smalls. He pushed his bottom higher in the air. ‘You are shameless, Mr. Wooster,’ I said, but I did not wait for an answer.

Spreading his cheeks with my hands, I leaned in and pressed my tongue against his most intimate area. He gasped, and as I continued, his moans grew louder. I could feel his knees shaking, straining to keep him upright. I used my lips and tongue to stretch him open until I was panting, and when I came up to breathe I looked at him. The sight alone was almost my undoing: there he was, only half-undressed, laid out for me, his tight pink hole displayed in such an indecent manner, and he was whimpering, begging for my touch…

‘I will take you now,’ I said, fumbling with my trousers. Mr. Wooster nodded feverishly. He had no words in him, only moans and my name, like a prayer on his tongue.

In a haze of passion I prepared myself, and then I was on my knees behind him, and my hands were on his hips, and I was gently sliding inside him. Finally, _finally_ inside him.

He tried to push himself against me, to take me in deeper, but his hands were still tied behind his back. I gave him a light slap on the thigh. ‘Patience,’ I hummed. I knew what he wanted, and it seemed cruel to deny him now, after he had been so obedient. But I wanted him to be aware of his own depravity; I wanted him to think of it when he would reach his climax.

‘See how docile you can be,’ I said, and I felt him clench around me, ‘You are so beautiful when you submit to me, sir, do you not agree?’

‘Yes, Jeeves,’ he gasped, and I knew that he understood, that he felt the unparalleled bliss of being claimed by his manservant while he, the master, was bound and used.

‘Very good, sir,’ I praised him, although the very same words had been spoken before in a different context. This, paired with a few powerful thrusts, had a remarkable effect. Mr. Wooster jolted, crying out in pleasure, and shuddered through a violent orgasm.

I lost all control then and pounded into him savagely, until I spilled my seed inside him with a groan. I only vaguely remember that I untied him and took him in my arms, kissing his face and neck. He smiled up at me, tired and content, and we somehow found ourselves on his bed. As we lay there recovering, he played with my hair.

‘Jeeves…’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘That tie – get rid of it, will you?’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Here were all things excellent: the horrible tie, finally to be thrown out or burned; Mr. Wooster’s body, warm against mine; and our days together, stretching out until the end of time. If I were to simplify this philosophy, I would borrow one of Mr. Wooster’s expressions: ‘nothing good comes easy’. But when I looked into his bright blue eyes, I forgot everything I had endured, and knew only the happiness of being with him.


	10. One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jeeves gets hugged by a stranger and Bertie gets jealous, pre-relationship.

I knew it would happen. I heard the sickly-sweet sigh escape her rouge-painted lips; the exclamation, the grateful ‘oh, Mister Jeeves!’ that she hurled at him like one hurls... a thingummy at... something or other. I really can’t be bothered with metaphors, you see, because now the wily female arm rose and fell and coiled around the broad Jeevesian shoulders. I seethed at the sight. Of all the bally nerve!

‘You are wonderful, Mister Jeeves! You have saved my life! You are my knight, my hero!’ she said as she pressed her body into his.

This insolent beasel was Miss Leighton. A friend of Madeline Basset – although you might have guessed this from the disgusting litany of sentimental nonsense that she gave Jeeves as she threw her arms around his neck. Jeeves had just fished the young thing out of the soup (something to do with teacups and fiancés and stray cats) and she chose to express her gratitude in this rather inappropriate way. He looked surprised at first, eyes widening comically, and I might have laughed had it not been for the lady’s head leaning against my valet’s chest.

Then the unthinkable happened. Although he still wore his stuffed-frog expression, Jeeves’ hands came up to gently pat Miss Leighton on the back.

The embrace only lasted a few seconds, but to the lonely young master watching from behind, they felt like hours. To see something as precious as Jeeves’ embrace given away so easily, so freely, when all this time I had dreamed of it… it was maddening. I mean to say – here I was, watching as she felt what I longed to feel, learned what I longed to learn: the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his skin, the gentleness of his arms… and oh, the tenderness I would pour into the embrace, if given the chance! Her dewy-eyed gratitude was nothing compared to what stirred in the Wooster chest.

Miss Leighton let go of poor, startled Jeeves. I waited for her to leave.

‘Jeeves…’

‘Yes, sir?’

I looked at him, this paragon of men. A million words – a million words I wanted to say.

‘Oh, nothing,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’

He nodded solemnly. Was it truly disappointment that I read on those finely chiselled features?

‘Very good, sir.’

One day, I promised myself. One day.


	11. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jeeves/Bertie, nipple play

It is late afternoon, and it is raining. Sunlight falls onto the floor white and withered, and the zigzagging raindrops on the window make light shadows dance across the flat. There is only the peaceful pitter-patter of rain– until a sigh is heard, and a soft thud as Reginald Jeeves is gently pushed against the front door, and Bertie Wooster leans in to kiss him.

Jeeves pretends to turn away, a secret smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Playfully, he turns his head to the side to avoid his master’s kiss. It lands on his cheeks.

‘Oh come now, Jeeves,’ Bertie reprimands him, but there’s laughter in his voice.

‘I’m afraid I have work to do, sir,’ Jeeves persists, teasingly sliding his arm around Bertie’s waist, only to push him away.

Bertie bites his lower lip. He isn’t good at hiding what he feels: his face always mirrors his emotions, and this is no exception. He smiles, even though he tries not to. He can’t stop himself from smiling when he’s with Jeeves. ‘Surely it can wait,’ he says, diving once more to claim his valet’s lips.

Jeeves gives in this time, but only briefly. ‘No, sir, I fear it cannot.’

Bertie’s fingers are already fumbling with Jeeves’ tie, unbuttoning Jeeves’ shirt, pulling his undershirt up and pushing the fabric away to reveal soft, flushed skin. ‘Hmm, there’s only one thing left to do then…’

This isn’t what Jeeves is expecting. The game is supposed to end with Bertie begging, like it always does. But this is different. The novelty of it sends a shiver down Jeeves’ spine. ‘Sir?’ he breathes, eyelids drooping as Bertie places a kiss on his neck.

‘Yes,’ Bertie says, mouth still pressed against Jeeves’ skin, ‘If you absolutely must go – well then, old fruit, go… but not before I show you what you’ll be missing.’

Jeeves likes the hunger in his master’s voice, the slight trembling in his hands as they tug at Jeeves’ jacket, which is soon on the floor. Jeeves almost wants to object – but oh, Bertie’s slender fingers are so soft on Jeeves’ chest, wandering downwards… across his stomach… slipping under his trousers…

And then they’re gone. Jeeves does not try to supress his grunt of frustration. He looks at Bertie, questioning, and Bertie only smiles. His big blue eyes travel up and down Jeeves’ body possessively. There’s pride in the way he reaches out, rests his palm over Jeeves’ pounding heart. The moment stretches, and they start to wonder if the game is already over.

But quite suddenly, Bertie’s smile widens. He tilts his head forward and with his tongue traces a line from Jeeves’ throat to the center of his chest. Then, ever so slowly, he turns. Jeeves feels his young master’s warm breath tickle his skin. For a second, they do not move.

Then Bertie covers Jeeves’ nipple with his mouth. Jeeves gasps.  

There’s something exceptionally sensual about the way Bertie’s lips part to take in the delicate flesh, the way they capture the skin, claim it. Jeeves cannot look away. This, paired with the heavenly sensation of Bertie’s mouth on such a private, sensitive part of his already-eager body… Jeeves shivers.

Bertie’s lips part again, only slightly, and his tongue darts out to stroke the erect nipple. Jeeves’ mouth falls open in a silent cry of pleasure. He will not moan, not now, not yet – it would please Bertie too much. But oh, the pleasure…

Bertie’s tongue is now circling Jeeves’ nipple, slowly, so slowly… and Jeeves is struggling not to plead, please, sir, please more… more… faster… His head falls back against the door behind him and he sighs. Bertie, tongue still moving, reaches down and pats Jeeves’ erection through his trousers.

‘Hmm,’ he hums his approval, and it reverberates through Jeeves’ body.

It’s too much now, too much, and Jeeves allows himself to press his hardness into Bertie’s palm. A mistake – as soon as he does, Bertie removes his hand and chuckles.

‘I’m sorry Jeeves, but we don’t have time for that. You have work to do, don’t you remember?’

And with that he moves to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first. Jeeves’ eyebrows tilt upwards, and he finally cannot take it any longer: a moan escapes him, so desperate and undignified that it shocks even him.

Bertie looks up, eyes dark with lust. ‘Good lord,’ he mutters, ‘Jeeves, don’t hold back. I want to hear you moan.’

‘Very… good… sir…’ Jeeves pants, blushing.

Once more Bertie’s lips and tongue tease and prod and pull at Jeeves’ now aching nipple, and Jeeves does as he is told: he moans, without affectation or artificiality, but he moans. At first words – ‘good heavens…’; ‘more, sir!’; ‘oh, sir, please!’ – but then Bertie is sucking hard, and Jeeves is too far gone, too consumed with desire to do anything but groan. He bucks his hips once, so desperate that he thrusts against the air itself. In response, Bertie bites him.

It sends tremors through Jeeves’ body.

Just then, everything stops. Bertie takes one step back and looks at Jeeves the way one would look at a painting near its completion. Satisfaction is written over the young master’s handsome face.

‘Right ho,’ he says, licking his lips, ‘Carry on, then.’

Jeeves is panting against the door. He is so painfully hard. ‘You do not truly expect me to work now, sir?’

Bertie’s eyes gleam. ‘I certainly do, Jeeves. You insisted earlier.’

Jeeves stares at his master, disbelieving. He cannot move, not even to pick up his jacket or button his shirt. He stays there against the door, hair falling into his eyes, both nipples hard, tender and pink. Bertie kisses him chastely on the cheek. ‘You’ll think of me while you work, won’t you?’ he bats his eyelashes innocently, then he leaves, disappearing into his room.

That evening, Jeeves finishes his work even faster than usual, and they stay up rolling in bed until dawn.


End file.
